


Living a dream with the sand in your shoes

by alessandralee



Category: Scorpion (TV 2014)
Genre: Day At The Beach, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 09:36:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3891439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alessandralee/pseuds/alessandralee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A day at the beach for Megan and Sylvester, complete with picnic lunch and pesky seagulls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Living a dream with the sand in your shoes

**Author's Note:**

> Just some fluff. Title is from the song "Sand in Your Shoes" by This Providence.

The bus is hot and loud and Megan’s cheek sticks the window as she listens to Sylvester narrate the afternoon he spent watching Ralph earlier that week, but it sure beats the stale, air-conditioned hospital air she’s used to.

“I mean, we had the ice cream parlor and the science museum to distract us, so it wasn’t really babysitting,” he explains. Sly’s probably the only person who thinks taking a sugared up nine year old to a museum is less stressful than watching one at home, “but Paige said she got an A on that paper, so I’m glad she got the time to focus on it.”

Megan’s halfway through telling her own story about her short lived idea of writing a novel, when the bus pulls into the beach parking lot.

“And then I realized it was less of an original idea, and more a direct rip off of one of those Super Fun Guy comics you leant me,” she cuts things short once she notices they’ve arrived.

Sly holds her crutches and the beach umbrella in the crook of his elbow, and their picnic basket in his left hand as they maneuver their way down the aisle and off the bus.

“You could always tweak it a bit and keep going,” he suggests as he hands over the crutches. “Are there really any completely original ideas anymore?”

Megan shrugs.

“It took me an hour and a half to write 250 words, and I was in a bad mood the rest of the day,” she tells him. “I think I’m just not author material.”

Megan scans the beach for a nice spot to lay down the blanket. The tide is coming in, so they shouldn’t set up too close the water.

It’s not hard to find a spot; they were lucky to beat most of the after school crowd of teenagers. There are a couple of groups of college students with speakers set up to blast their music, but that’s not too hard to avoid. They make their way towards an empty stretch of sand near a gaggle of women who look to be in their seventies.

The sand is a drag on Megan’s crutches and, not for the first time, she wistfully remembers chasing Walter around the beach when they were children. Thoughts like that come more and more frequently as her MS progresses, but she’s gotten good and shoving them aside before they can drag her down.

Sly lays out their large striped beach blanket, and Megan weighs down each corner with the picnic basket, her backpack, and their shoes as Sly digs the umbrella into the ground.

“Sunscreen?” Sly asks once all their things have been settled.

Megan reaches into the backpack and hands the bottle to him. Slowly and methodically, he begins applying on himself, bending down so Megan can see to the back of his neck. Then he sits down next to her.

“So what did you pack?” he asks her.

Megan pulls a thermos out of her backpack and hands it to him, “Lemonade, egg salad, and chips. Plus some other snacks for later.”

Sylvester smiles as he takes the thermos from her, “No ice pops?”

“No ice pops,” she confirms with a roll of her eyes. Their first beach trip had been a sticky mess when she’d misjudged exactly how long the bus ride would take and how long a couple of ice packs would keep things frozen.

They’re enjoying their sandwiches when a seagull swoops down and snatches a potato chip that was just sticking out of the bag. They both startle a bit at the surprise, and Megan grabs the flip-flop lying next to her and swats at the bird. It flies off before she can make contact, though, which is a good thing. She’d probably feel bad if she’d hurt it.

“Scavenger,” Sly shakes his head in disgust, but doesn’t say anything more. Megan knows he’s probably mentally reviewing every fact he knows about all the gross bugs and bacteria and microorganisms that can live on seagulls, and she’s glad he doesn’t share that knowledge. They’re able to finish their food in peace, although Sly never takes another chip.

They lie in silence in the sun for a few minutes after they’re done eating, just enjoying the warm weather and the slight breeze off the water. There are times when her forced reliance on public transportation makes Megan wish she lives somewhere like New York City, with it’s subway systems to bypass street traffic. But while October in LA is beautiful, she knows it’s probably cold and rainy in New York right now.

Long bus rides are an easy trade-off.

“Shall we stroll?” Sylvester asks after a while, propping himself up on his arms so he can look at Megan.

She can’t help but giggle at his antiquated phrasing.

“I think we shall,” she plays along. “Help me up.”

Sylvester gets to his feet and then helps Megan to hers, pulling her up by one arm while she holds her crutches in the other.

Once again, the sand forces Megan to move at an even slower pace than she’s used to. Sylvester doesn’t comment, he’s never commented actually, just slows down and shortens his stride to match hers.

One day, she’s not going to be able to manage even these snail’s pace beach walks. It pains Megan to think about it, so she tries to funnel that sadness into anger. She doesn’t deserve to have this happen to her, but it’s inevitable.

Then she chases her anger away with the thought of Sylvester carrying her to the beach. At first it’s a little sad, not nearly as romantic as it would be if she had full use of her legs, but then she thinks about him trying to carry not just her, but the beach umbrella, bag, picnic basket, and the wheelchair she’ll probably be using at that point.

The Sly in her imagination barely makes it off the bus before he collapses under all that weight.

That thought, at least, perks her up enough to break her from those gray-tinged thoughts.

The closer they get to the water, picking their way across a strip of sharp, broken shells, the cooler the breeze gets. By the time they make it to the shoreline, the miss and the wind off of water has them both feeling refreshed.

As they turn and walk parallel to the ocean, Megan fills Sylvester in on the rest of her week. A friend from college is going to be in town in a couple of weeks with her husband, and has been trying to talk Megan into meeting up with them for a bit.

“She’s great, but her husband’s, ugh, slimy,” Megan explains her reluctance to see them.

Sylvester chuckles and raises an eyebrow at her over the frame of his glasses, “Slimy?”

“He works for the mayor’s office in Chicago,” Megan elaborates. “He’s that that skeezy politician fakeness just rolling off of him in waves.”

“Oh,” Sly nods, catching on. “Can you just see her? Girls only lunch or something?”

Megan has only lunch (or dinner or drinks) with Happy and Paige almost every week. 

She shakes her head. She wishes.

“Apparently, he doesn’t get a lot of time off. He works weekend and late nights,” Megan can’t help but be suspicious of those late nights, though she’s never said anything to Cynthia’s face about them, “so she’s not letting him out of her sight for their entire trip.”

Sylvester is silent for a moment as he considers the situation.

Then he asks, “When are they coming?”

“The fifteenth though the nineteenth.”

There’s another moment of silence, then he offers, “I could go to lunch with you. If we’re not working on something crazy for Homeland, of course.”

Those things tend to pop up unexpectedly.

Honestly, the thought of meeting two complete strangers, one who Megan clearly doesn’t like, is a bit overwhelming for him. But if it makes it easier for Megan to see someone she clearly does like, then it’s a small price to pay.

Megan smiles up at him hopefully, “Really?”

All of a sudden, a few hours of conversation with a slime ball politician feels like a walk in the park, at least for the next few seconds.

“Sure,” he tells her.

“Great, I’ll call her when I get home,” Megan says.

They continue walking for a bit, Sylvester telling her about a restaurant that Paige had recommended to him. Then they turn around and head back the way they came.

Sylvester reapplies his sunscreen and Megan decides that it would hurt for her to put some on, too.

“I guess that means we’re sticking around for a while, then?” Sylvester asks after he’s applied lotion to the back of her neck and legs.

“I thought we’d watch the sunset,” Megan suggests.

They’re fallen into the habit of doing that on most of their beach days. Megan practically collapses into bed at the end of them, but it’s totally worth it as far as she’s concerned.

“Then we’ll need provisions,” Sylvester tells her. “Ice cream?”

Technically Megan packed a box of cookies, a tin of peanuts, and those fruit snacks she says she buys for Ralph but really eats herself. But all she has to go with them is a bottle of water that’s probably gotten warm by now. Ice cream sounds much better.

“Chocolate cone with chocolate sprinkles, please,” she says as an agreement.

“Then I’ll be right back,” Sly fishes her wallet out of his pocket. “Do you want the chocolate dipped cones if they have them?”

Megan nods vigorously. She can’t resist the trifecta of chocolate ice cream, sprinkles, and cone. She’s not surprised that Sylvester has caught onto that.

“If they have it,” she says.

Then she situates herself on the blanket, waiting for Sly to brave the undoubtedly long concession line for treats.


End file.
